


Replace Me

by Firgolfin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, POV First Person, vomit/nausea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firgolfin/pseuds/Firgolfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is confronted with the consequences of Cullens lyrium withdrawal. Set around the "Perseverance" quest - alternate take. First Person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replace Me

**Author's Note:**

> 2015-07-10 Edit 1: Corrected a few mistakes, thanks to gweniveres for helping me with it. :-)
> 
> This work wasn't supposed to be an oneshot, it was an experiment, and I probably won't continue it. At least not at the moment. But who knows...

_"He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. And it would destroy him to give up now. He's come so far. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time."_

Now I'm standing in front of the door which leads into Cullen's tower, hesitating, and Cassandra's words are still echoing in my head. I can hear him, even through the massive and thick wood, he's groaning and swearing. Always so quiet, solid, but now he's _loud_ and it frightens me.

I lift my hand to knock, but then I stop, biting my bottom lip. I don't know what's going on in there. What if he doesn't want to see me right now? Or rather, if he doesn't want me to see _him_?

But what if he needs help? It seems like he does. Come on. I raise my hand again and finally I dare to knock at the door.

There's no reaction from inside. Well, that's exactly what I expected.

What now? _Talk to him_ , I hear Cassandra's voice again in my head. Well. Okay. I'll try.

I force myself to calm down, gathering my courage, and finally I press against the massive door. It isn't locked, it swings open with a remarkable creaking. He should be oiling this, I think, absent-minded.

"Cullen," I start to talk while stepping inside, "can I–"

The next thing I hear is Cullens frustrated yell, and then something hits my head. Hard. I gasp in surprise and sudden pain; I stumble backwards until my back hits the door frame, which causes a new flash of pain. Cullen yells again. "No!" and his voice is kind of distorted, full of terror, panic.

The noises around me are suddenly muffled and my vision blurs, my head hurts and pulses. What was that? I blink and try to focus. I'm no longer standing, I notice, but I'm sitting on the floor. I raise my hand, carefully, to touch my temple lightly. It hurts and it's wet and I inhale sharply while pulling back and looking at my fingers. They are all red, I'm _bleeding._ I can hear my blood roaring in my ears.

"Maker's breath, I didn't hear you enter," Cullen gasps, and it sounds desperate. I blink again and try to answer, but white stars are dancing in front of my eyes, I can't see him clearly, my vision is blurred and my stomach is twisting.

But even in my state I can see that something is wrong with him. Terribly wrong. His big body is bent down, gloved fingers are crawling in the wood of his massive desk as if he isn't able to stand without support. His eyes are wide in shock and his teeth and jaw are clenched together.

"I'm so sorry," he supports himself against the massive desk and rounds it slowly, trying to walk towards me. But as soon as his hands release the desk, he stumbles, his knees are giving way. "Damn it," he curses loudly. "Forgive me," he repeats, whispering, again and again.

My vision clears and slowly my senses are recovering, but my stomach is still rebelling. I know that it won't take much and I'll vomit right there on Cullen's floor, oh maker no, please. I can feel the blood streaming down my face. Shit. I press my hand against my temple in an attempt to make it stop.

What has happened? My gaze is wandering through the room, searching, until I finally find what has hit me just moments ago. It's a small, but solid wooden box. And I remember it. It's the templar tool, which they need to prepare their daily lyrium dose.

Oh Cullen.

He must have thrown it with full power in this very moment when I've entered his tower. Nice timing, I think to myself and sigh.

I try to stand up, but I fail miserably. Bad idea. I realize that I'll really vomit if I try again, I'm sure of it.

My eyes meet his, and his expression is full of desperation; he groans in pain, whispering my name again and again, and my heart breaks.

He looks awful. And terribly tired. His skin is pale, he's covered in sweat, and he has remarkable dark circles around his eyes. When was the last time he slept?

"I'm okay," I stammer, finally finding my voice again. "It's not as bad... as it looks like, I–I suppose." I just want him to calm down, but the blood that's still streaming down my cheek reveals my lie. Why doesn't it stop? It must be a deep cut.

"I–Makers breath–I really didn't see you." He tries to reach me, he takes a few steps, and again, he nearly falls. "Andraste's tits! I never meant for this to interfere." He slams his fist against the desk with another frustrated yell. "And look where it has taken me! Now I'm hurting other people... _you_..."

"Cullen," I call his name with the softest voice I can manage right now. I want to help him, hug him, hold him close. Telling him that everything will be alright. Sickness be damned, I try to get back on my feet again. My hands are grabbing the cold stones of the wall while I'm pulling myself up, slowly, carefully. I wait until the dizziness fades and then make a few stumbling steps towards him, my hand reaching out for him.

"No!" His voice is harsh and rude and startles me, causes me to freeze in place.

"I–Cullen, please."

His eyes go even wider as he realizes that he has just frightened me. "No," he repeats, softer this time, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I–just don't, please, don't. Help me, that is. _You_ need help. You're bleeding, please, let Dorian look at this." His shoulders are hanging deep, he's avoiding my gaze now, his eyes are looked on the desk.

"It's just a scratch." My words are ridiculous, I know that, but I don't care. "I just want to help you, Cullen."

 _Please, let me help you. I care about you. I care about you so much_ , my heart yells and yet the words won't come out. My head still hurts, the blood still streams, reduced only a bit by the pressure of my palm, but I can only see him. "Please, look at me," I beg.

He does and there is tenderness in his eyes, briefly, but then his expression changes again, replaced with sadness, remorse. "I don't deserve that–you."

"What? Of course you–" he raises his hand, interrupting me with a rude gesture as I try to approach him again.

Distressed, I lean back against the wall, sighing. I don't know what else to do, what to say.

He doesn't know, either, apparently. He runs his hand through his hair and his curls are loosening, giving him an unfamiliar, disheveled look.

There is a distance building up between us, physical and emotional, which neither of us can overcome right now.

"Just go now," he whispers eventually. "Let Dorian help you. We... we'll talk later, okay?"

"And... what will you do, once I'm... gone?" I can't help myself, but stare down the floor, where the scattered glass is lying, and the blue substance of the lyrium is trickling away slowly.

He understands. Of course he does. "I–I don't know," he simply says.

"Don't," I whisper.

"I don't know if I..." he interrupts himself, his hands are clenching to fists, his knuckles becoming white before relaxing again, and with a sigh he continues, "Maker's breath, alright, but please. Go. Now! You're still bleeding and it's my fault and... just get help. Please!"

I hesitate again, but he's right, and I finally sense that I can't help him right now, as much as I want to. I give him a brief nod before slowly walking backwards. "Alright," I swallow the knot in my throat and blink back the tears which are burning behind my eyes.

I close the door silently before allowing hot tears to stream down my face. I don't search for Dorian though. Instead, with a quiet sob, I let myself sink down at the stone wall nearby Cullen's door. Too many thoughts are running through my head.

One hand still pressed against my pulsating temple, I wrap the other arm around my knees and I start weeping. I weep for him, for myself, for the crack in our relationship which is still new and just about to grow. Our closeness, soft intimacy, gone, replaced by distance and fear and pain.

I can't remember the last time I felt so desperate, so afraid and so helpless as I do now.

 _The withdrawal of lyrium causes physical pain_ , he has told me just several weeks earlier. _And worse,_ s _ome people go mad, others... die. I'm sorry to tell you that, I didn't mean to worry you. But at least you deserve the truth. Hey, don't make such a sad face. Everything will be fine, okay? I promise._

 _I can endure it..._ that had been his own words, but are they true? Can he? Maybe I should've asked him to take it. Why haven't I told him to take it? Oh maker. It'll be all my fault if he... what if he... dies? No. Please.

He promised...

But this one small word, it's now whirling around in my head, again and again, just like the pain in my temple.

_Die. Die. Die._

"Please, no," I hear myself whispering between broken sobs, "don't die Cullen. Please don't die." The urge to run back inside grows stronger with each passing minute. _"Take it! Take the lyrium,"_ I want to scream. _"I can't bear to see you suffer. I can't bear the thought of losing you."_

But I don't move. I can't. It's his own decision. And I... I must try to trust him. To believe him. And he promised.

Inside the tower, I hear him yelling again. My hands are clenching into fists, and my heart freezes to ice.


End file.
